Kiss Me in the Summer Rain
by William Easley
Summary: July 4, 2017 - It's the anniversary of their first kiss. And no fireworks this year. So what are Dipper and Wendy gonna do?


**Kiss Me in the Summer Rain**

**By William Easley**

(July 4, 2017)

* * *

Dipper's inner alarm clock had set itself to rouse him at five-thirty, and July 4th was no exception. He opened his eyes, yawned, and swung his legs out of bed, wondering if the rain had continued through the night, and if it had, if it was too heavy to let him and Wendy run.

He could hear dripping—the water falling from the eaves—but no steady drumming of a downpour. The triangular window was too fogged with mist to be sure of the conditions outside. Maybe it had stopped, maybe not.

No use to wake Wendy up until he knew. In undershirt and boxer briefs, he visited the bathroom, pulled on a pair of running shorts, and without bothering about socks or shoes—this was just a weather recon, no more than that—he padded downstairs barefoot. He opened the back door and stepped out—and almost ran into Wendy, who stood there on the Shack's smallest porch looking out at the wet world. "Oh, sorry! Hi," he said. "Still raining."

"Yup," she said. "Good morning, fiancé."

She was wearing a white sleeveless undershirt and red running shorts, but like Dipper she was bare-legged and barefoot.

"Good morning, fiancée!" he said, reaching to hold her hand.

The rain had gentled, but it still came down in drifting, wavering curtains. The raindrops had shrunk until they fell almost as fine as the spray from the Falls, though, and the overcast definitely looked lighter—more the color of pewter than of weathered lead.

—Still too wet out for a run.

So let's go for a little stroll.

—In the rain?

What, dude, you gonna melt?

They stepped down into the grass and walked around to the Museum porch. Somewhere to the east, behind the cloud layer, the sun was just rising. The world shimmered in diamonds of raindrops and the pearly light of a thin fog.

Your stomach's kinda crawly, Dip. Not used to walking barefoot?

—Just at the beach. The grass feels weird underfoot.

You'll get used to it in a couple of minutes.

The sensation of water squelching up between his toes was—interesting. The two of them didn't hurry. The breeze coated them with the small but densely-crowded raindrops. The two paused at the Bottomless Pit. When they got a thunderstorm, it drained water like the outlet of a gigantic bathtub, but now trickles leaked into it, dropping down into oblivion.

Think the water ever gets out again?

—Oh, yeah. When it vaporizes, the vapor can rise out of the Pit. Grunkle Ford says the humidity right above it is always at least fifty per cent, even in very dry weather.

Figures he'd think to measure something like that!

—He's curious about everything. He told me the pH of Gravity Falls rain is just slightly different from rain anywhere else in Oregon. And sometimes our rainbows have a faint extra band of a color that doesn't even have a name.

When it dries out a little, let's go to Ghost Falls and camp and soak in the hot spring. I want to look at the rainbow that forms at the foot of Ghost Falls and see if I can spot that extra color.

—Deal.

On the Mystery Trail they saw a young doe, only about thirty feet away from them, her tawny sides slick with rain. She raised her head and perked her ears at their approach and then walked, almost casually, into the undergrowth. Dipper wondered about that.

—Huh. They usually run.

I think she knew we're not a threat. Pretty, wasn't she?

—Yeah, so graceful. And those big eyes.

That's why I can't stand to eat venison. I used to cook it for Dad and the boys, but—I know it's stupid and sentimental, but I love to look at deer. They seem so placid. Well, 'cept at mating time.

"Whoa!" Dipper yipped, ducking and pulling Wendy into a semi-crouch. A gliding shadowy shape swooped only a few feet above their heads. "Another Pteranodon!"

"Not big enough to eat us, though," Wendy said, straightening up and pushing the hair out of her eyes as she stared at it.

"It probably was aiming for the deer. This must be a young one. There it goes."

With flaps of its enormous wings—enormous for its body size, anyway—the flying reptile veered and sailed off only a few feet over the tops of the trees. Wendy said, "It's bigger than the ones we saw last year. Maybe you'd better talk to Dr. P. about relocating them to some dimension where they'd be more at home. They really don't belong here. Once they grow big enough to carry off people—"

"I'll talk to him about it," Dipper said, brushing back his own wet hair. The rain had soaked it—and Wendy's too. "Think we ought to start back?"

"Nah. It's not cold, and a little rain won't hurt us. Let's walk as far as the clearing, anyway. Just to stretch our legs."

Dipper took her hand again and gave her a sideways glance as they walked. His grip tensed.

He felt Wendy's amusement: No, I didn't bother with a bra. You can tell, huh?"

—Well, yeah, when your—you're wet.

Never win a wet tee-shirt contest, will I?

—You don't have to. You're beautiful, Wendy.

Huh. I guess I can believe you believe that. I can read all your thoughts just now. Every single one. Shame on you!

—I can't help it! I love you.

Wendy stopped. They were well out of sight of the shack. She turned to him with a soft smile. She reached to push his hair back off his forehead. She gently traced his birthmark with a finger. "Didn't get that last part," she said quietly.

"I said I love you, Wendy."

"Do something about it, then!"

He pulled her into a close embrace. For a moment the two young lovers stood pressed against each other, face to face, smiling, looking into each other's eyes.

Then, her breath scented with peppermint, she whispered, "We don't need fireworks to celebrate an anniversary. Kiss me in the rain, Dipper."

And so—he did.

* * *

The End


End file.
